


(It takes) 221 Tango

by black_rose_blade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Clueless John, Dancing, M/M, Molly Helps, Murder, Mutual Pining, Post S4, Sherlock Misses John, Songs, Sort Of, catty John, catty sherlock, dance!lock, fabulous gays, rl celebrities, sequins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rose_blade/pseuds/black_rose_blade
Summary: It’s been two years since Sherlock and John went through all their troubles with Mary, Culverton, and Eurus. Their friendship is somewhat restored, but John and Sherlock don’t see much of each other as John decides to have another go at civilian life. One day, out of the blue, Sherlock receives a text from none other than Irene Adler and somehow ends up on the hit British Celebrity Dance Competition - Strictly Come Dancing.





	1. Her lips (caress your skin)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this ever since I finished Becoming Watson and Holmes. Hope you like it.

_“[Her] eyes upon your face... /[Her] hand upon your hand... /[Her] lips caress your skin... /It's more than I can stand...”_

 

 

 

  
The rain putters quietly against the windows of 221B. Sherlock stares out through them from his position by his desk with more than a little bit of disdain. He fiddles with the strings of his violin as he contemplates the hateful reality of having to spend a quiet day indoors with absolutely nothing to do and no one to entertain him either. Even Lestrade’s pile of cold cases had been solved just this morning and Sherlock can’t even begin to entertain the idea of visiting his sister at Sherringford. He is neither in the mood nor does he have the patience to deal with her little social experiments and irritations today, not when he himself is feeling so annoyed with the world. He definitely doesn’t want to see Mycroft and be accused of crawling to him for an interesting case.  
Sherlock sighs, getting up to press his forehead against one of the windows. It has been exactly two years since the whole business with Mary’s death along with Eurus’ kidnapping of John Watson and John has since abandoned Sherlock in favour of another boring potential wife. Sherlock can’t be bothered to remember her name. He deletes any information he receives about her as soon as he gets it. He supposes that it was bound to happen again eventually, though, John having one more go at a normal civilian life. He does have a baby to care for on his own now, after all and Sherlock’s lifestyle is hardly an environment in which ‘normal’ or ‘sane’ people would want to raise their child. Sherlock thinks it’s rather unfair, to be honest, because Sherlock would give his life to protect John’s progeny - to teach her and guide her would be an experiment he would be curious to perform - but at the same time he can hardly fault the man for wanting to keep his baby away from him. Sherlock has a way of destroying everything he touches, if not directly, then by indirect contact. Even knowing the logic behind John’s actions, Sherlock can’t help the ache in his heart as his mind conjures unwanted images of John with a faceless woman, fingers skimming down her skin, holding her, embracing her. Her lips grazing his lips…  

  
Sherlock leans back and screeches a few notes on his violin, torturing it with the purpose of forgetting the picture his mind has so stupidly decided to provide. He plays a couple of actual notes after that, hoping it’ll at least inspire him to compose something new and keep those haunting images away. His mind, however, has other ideas, and instead it chooses to continue wallowing in self-pity and loneliness. As more as images of John and and this woman fizzle into Sherlock’s mind the growing sting of temptation for a needle and a seven percent solution gets more insistent. Sherlock ignores it, but at the same time finally gives up on the violin and begins to pack it away. He’ll probably just go to bed and attempt to fall asleep. Maybe when he wakes up he’ll realize this was all a dream and John will still be here. Sherlock sighs. How utterly sentimental of him. He runs one last finger against his violin before he places his hands on its lid. Sherlock is just about to shut said lid when the tell-tale recording of a woman’s sigh of pleasure emanates from his phone.  
Sherlock’s brow wrinkles. Today doesn’t mark any particularly special day that he can remember, and The Woman doesn’t usually text him without an excuse. He contemplates whether or not he should even bother checking it. Most likely she’s just bored and wants to get a rise out of him. He snaps the violin case shut, clicking the latches into place and just happens to pass by his phone, which sits on the coffee table. He also just so happens to glance at the message flashing on the screen.

  
“5-3, 3-2, 8-1, 7-4, 4-1, 6-3, 3-1, 2-1, 6-2, 4-3,6-2, 4-1: 53.816515, - 3.055896,” the message reads.  
  


Sherlock glares at the tiny screen, huffs, considers firing off a message, then stomps to his room with his violin.

 

 

________________________________________

 

 

It’s a late Saturday evening and Molly is honestly exhausted. She’s been watching over Rosie for John while he’s out on his date night with his girlfriend. Apparently, John had called Sherlock to ask him to babysit but had never received a response from the man and Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her sister this weekend so John had turned to Molly for help. He’d arrived almost three hours ago and would be back in another two. Before had John left on his date, John had  taken Molly aside and told her, in a slightly concerned voice, that he hasn’t heard much from Sherlock for almost two months and asked her if she knew anything of him, and whether she thought he should be worried. He had claimed he’d checked up on him but that Sherlock had seemed distant and aloof yet somehow still his usual self. John was curious about whether or not Molly had information for him. Molly didn’t, however, she _had_ seen Sherlock at Bart’s a few times and he’d looked rather fine. She had told John of her most recent encounter with Sherlock three days ago to ease his mind, anyway. She explained that she hadn’t had the chance to talk to him but that he’d seemed normal as he exited the building while speaking on the phone in rapid-fire tones to someone else in a language that sounded like it might be Russian. Perhaps he had a case for Mycroft? John had nodded and had seemed satisfied with the information and had bid her and Rosie a good evening with a final thank you hug. Molly had smiled and waved them off and had spent a very tiring evening indeed. Rosie is two years old now, after all, and she definitely requires a lot more energy than she used to do. She’s happy she’s trusted to watch her, but she’s also incredibly happy that the toddler is finally asleep and will be going home with her real parent soon.

  
Unlike Rosie, Molly isn’t quite sleepy yet, so she sits down on the couch and turns on the telly, the baby monitor sitting just within reach while Rosie snores the night away softly in a portable crib in Molly’s bedroom. Molly flips through the channels with a bored sigh, resting her hand on her chin until she finally settles on what looks like the familiar flashy stage of Strictly Come Dancing. Molly pouts, the show is one of her guilty pleasures. She’d forgotten all about it this year and hasn’t kept up with who this year’s celebrity dancers will be. She’s a little disappointed at that but decides she may as well carry on. It looks like this is only the middle of the first episode, so she’s probably not missed much.  
  
Molly smiles as Tess and Claudia introduce this year’s new addition of professional dancers, the stage exploding with the glitter and glamour of the big musical number that will bring them to the stage. There’s a new male dancer from Spain, a fit young man with blonde hair and two elegant women, one tall with long red wavy curls and one of about average height with short blond hair and hazel eyes. The three look absolutely stunning as they spin onto the stage, dancing to a pumped-up modern version of a song Molly thinks is called ‘Sway’. She watches with admiration as the graceful dancers on the screen put up an amazing performance and subconsciously wiggles her shoulders to the rhythm. It’s a shame she can’t turn up the volume for fear of waking Rosie. Were she home alone Molly would probably be dancing along unabashedly. With a glance in the direction of her bedroom Molly slowly gets up to creep over and shut the door a little. She returns to the living room to grab the baby monitor while she wanders over to her kitchen in order to grab a snack while she watches the show. She can’t really hear what’s going on on the telly right now, but she figures she should grab a snack now before she misses anything more. She places a bag of popcorn into the microwave and waits patiently until it’s done. From there she quickly grabs a bowl, pours her snack into it and rushes back to the living room, baby monitor under her arm while she passes by her chair, stealing the throw blanket on it so she can snuggle into the couch comfortably.  
  
She’s all settled in and about to pop a buttery kernel into her mouth when she notices something on telly that has _got_ to be impossible. She has to do a double take, rubbing at one her eyes to make sure she’s not imagining it.

  
She isn’t.  
  
There, right before her eyes…

Molly gapes. It’s… it’s _Sherlock_! That’s him standing there among the other competitors on the screen! This is - well it _would_ be funny if it were anyone else, exciting even, but she can’t even begin to picture Sherlock doing any sort of dancing. Of course, she knew he danced in theory - she had once heard John’s late wife, Mary, mention Sherlock had taught John how to waltz before his wedding. Molly had hardly believed it when she’d heard it, but it looks like she is going to see the evidence of Sherlock’s dancing prowess herself this evening, and on live television no less! She can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s up to, or how he even got onto the show. A lot of celebrities waited years for their chance to be called on to participate. 

 

As Molly contemplates Sherlock’s ability to get in almost anywhere the show transitions to the celebrity interviews bit. Molly watches with rapt curiosity but she can hardly concentrate on the words of the other contestants as she waits for Sherlock’s turn on the screen. She’s incredibly nervous for him, her foot tapping impatiently and her mind thinking back on how worried she’d been before Sherlock had made his (admittedly touching, before the attempted murder bit happened) speech at John’s wedding and she chews on her thumbnail in apprehension. ‘ _Please don’t say anything rude, Sherlock_.’ Her mind pleads.

 

Just as she feels herself begin to vibrate on the tip of her seat Sherlock’s smiling face appears on the screen. It’s an odd smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but for anyone that didn’t know him, you might say that he looked genuinely kind and happy to be on the show.  
  


“Hello, I’m Sherlock Holmes,” He begins and the screen switches from the image of him sitting and smiling on a chair to a split screen of three different images of Sherlock, one of him doing a spin, one of him bowing and one of him with his hands steepled beneath his chin. “I’ve got an international reputation as a consulting detective. You might best know me from the famous blog run by my close friend and colleague, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock’s baritone voice says as the screen continues to switch back and forth through various images of Sherlock, mostly of him walking around London with his coat tails swishing or looking through comically sized magnifying glasses in a brightly coloured studio. “A couple of years ago I ran into some trouble with a man who, among other things, attempted to steal the crown jewels. I had to fake my own death after he framed me for various crimes but such is the danger of being a renowned crime-solving genius.” Sherlock laughs. He laughs! Molly is absolutely floored. Sherlock never talks like that. God, he seems so friendly and quite frankly it’s disturbing. “… what many people don’t know about me, though,” Sherlock continues in that eerily cheerful tone, “is that I quite love dancing. I took a few ballroom dance lessons as a child, but it’s been years since I’ve had the chance to actually do any proper dancing. I relish the idea of having the chance to do it now. I just hope my partner can put up with me. I’m told I can be a little difficult. But I’ve come on the show determined to recover some of that lost skill so I promise I will do my best and behave.” Sherlock ends his speech with a wink. A WINK! _ON PUBLIC TELEVISION_. _Sherlock_!

Molly is dumbfounded. She sits there, continuing to gape, even after the screen has switched to other celebrities. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s shocked in the most confusing way. She does know one thing though, and that’s that she has got to tell John. She can’t tell him now, of course, because he’s on his date, but as soon as he gets back… but then, maybe Sherlock doesn’t want John to know? Why else would he be avoiding him, after all? Oh, but this is such a strange and tempting story to tell! Molly isn’t normally one for gossip, but this is Sherlock – dancing - on live television, on a popular celebrity dance show known for its glitz, glamour and, and, and, sequins.

She wrings her hands in her lap, barely concentrating on the show and even missing the big musical celebrity number as she considers whether or not to tell John when he comes home to get Rosie. Would Sherlock be terribly upset with her if she told?

 

 

\----------

 

It’s another two weeks before Molly finally cracks. She has religiously been keeping up with all the news and drama of the show that she can get her hands on ever since last weekend. So far, she has watched with a sort of morbid interest, cringing at the incredibly false personality the Sherlock is presenting but also with wonder, because surprise, surprise – The man can move! Last week’s performance with Iris Zaputannym – his dance partner, one of the new dancers, the blonde– was their first official showcase dance before the judges and they had knocked it out of the park. They had danced a very rhythmic cha-cha to the tune of a song Molly had looked up called ‘Donde estas Yolanda’, sung in Spanish. Sherlock and Iris had received the highest scores of anyone ever on a first round, getting an 8 out of ten from two of the judges and two surprising 9’s from the remaining two judges. And it was no wonder. They had moved so smoothly and sensually on that the dance floor. Molly had clapped and cheered watching it last week she watched Sherlock twist and turn, sashaying to the rhythm with the help of his graceful partner. They’d been virtually perfect together, their lifts and turns only adding to the beauty of their smooth movements, all emphasized by the lines and shapes they created with every beat and movement of their lean and limber bodies. It had been stunning to watch, to say the least, and despite the weirdness of watching Sherlock participate in something so public. Molly can hardly wait to see how they’ll score this week. After Sherlock’s first performance she has every faith that he’ll do well. She knows that this week they’ll be performing a salsa - another Latin dance - but she has no idea what song they’ll be performing this evening. She’s sure that it’s sure to be amazing, though. 

 

Tapping her finger on the couch as she waits for Sherlock and Iris’ turn to dance, she looks in the direction of her bedroom. She’s babysitting for John again and doesn’t want to turn up the volume too much, lest she wake the sleeping baby and miss Sherlock’s performance, but she’s so excited to hear their song choice. Maybe just one bar will be enough? She nearly squeals as the screen switches to a clip of Sherlock in 221B - and Molly is surprised again that he’s allowed the cameras in there. Last week, as he and Iris got acquainted Sherlock had brought her to his home and had revealed his ‘murder’ board for a small case about a missing dog, which they solved together for the benefit of the public. Molly had been shocked to see him so co-operative and patient with Iris, but the reason why was quite evident as she had proved herself to be quite clever, helping him solve the case quite quickly. If there was something that Sherlock appreciates in another person it was their intelligence. The smile they had shared when the final pieces of the puzzle were in place had been the only genuine one Molly had seen on Sherlock while he participated on this show. Well, apart from the grin he’d had when he’d danced with her. Indeed, his relationship with Iris looked to be the only true part of himself that he was presenting on the show. Molly supposed that was a good thing, since dancing was really quite an intimate activity, involving trust and care of one’s partner. The two of them almost seem like old friends whenever they’re shown together. She’s a little jealous but mostly she’s happy for Sherlock and proud of his behavior so far.

 

As she watches the television show, Molly continues to be awed by him. This week’s images of 221B are quickly replaced with Sherlock in the dance studio practicing his routine with Iris. 

 

“Sherlock is very determined and headstrong,” The heavily Russian accented voice of Iris speaks, “but this is a good thing because I am a very demanding teacher. He said a few weeks ago that he was worried that he would be a difficult student but I’ve found him to be a pleasure to teach. What he is, and it’s evident from last week’s performance and practice - is a perfectionist. He does not stop until he has it perfect, and that is the only thing he needs to work on. It is not that I think he should stop practicing as hard - him working like this is the reason that I believe we will win, but he does need to loosen up a little bit. This is very important. This week we dance a Salsa, and he needs to really free himself, free his body. He needs to allow himself to feel that desire, touch that sensual part of himself that he showed us a peek of last week. He also needs to learn to take a little bit more time for breaks. I don’t want my champion in making to burn himself out before we reach our prize. Yes, this is what I hope he will do this week.” While she speaks the screen flips between clips of Sherlock dancing with her last week, Sherlock sweating in the studio and Iris trying to push him to take a break and relax. There are also clips of them missing a twirl or a step and Sherlock growling in frustration only to break out into laughter when Iris pokes his side, reminding him to relax. Finally, when her interview is over the screen switches to the dimmed view of the stage. The silhouettes of Iris and Sherlock can be seen far apart from one another, Sherlock and Iris each sitting at a table on opposite ends of the stage. Sherlock’s silhouette appears to be reading a newspaper and Iris rests her hand on her chin as the slow steady beat of a vaguely familiar American pop song begins. 

“We don’t talk any more, we don’t talk anymore...” the voice of a woman begins. As the chorus grows louder and louder Sherlock and Iris begin to move, each standing with a hand tapping on their table. Slowly they begin to move forward on the stage.

As the introductory chorus ends a salsa beat is incorporated into the song and the lights flick on at the exact second that Iris and Sherlock begin to move faster in time to the music, each steadily making their way to the other, their hips, legs and arms all flailing rhythmically in time with the song. Iris wears a gorgeous and incredibly sexy frilled dark blue dress with a red flower clipped to her short blonde curls. Sherlock matches her with dark trousers a thick sequinned belt and a shirt of the same colour of her dress opened almost halfway down his chest. On the occasional zoom Molly can almost spot the bullet wound left near his heart where he was shot a couple of years ago. Molly watches enraptured by the sensuality of their movements. She is stunned by the freedom Sherlock seems to dance with this week, especially as they twist and turn on the stage, coming together and splitting apart in wide dramatic sweeps. She’s stunned when they move into a particular position, Iris’ back to Sherlock’s front, his arm on her belly as they almost grind their hips against each other while the loud trumpet sounds fill the dance hall. Molly feels her face go hot. The move is scandalous! And when combined with their expressions...! Eek! They look so caught up in the heat of the dance, both sweating profusely but smiling all the same. The way their feet move and their hips sway - it’s like they’re in their own little world. It’s really a wonder to watch and to equate the image of this sensual and charming man with their Sherlock. This man is sex on legs, while Sherlock, who Molly already thinks is very, very hot, tends to be more... demure if not arrogantly flamboyant. Molly is so distracted watching the big finish, as Sherlock dips Iris for their final pose, that she almost doesn’t hear the light knock on her front door. _Oh no_! John has arrived early! Molly panics flailing and dropping the tv remote so that it skids across the floor, while the judges begin to talk to Sherlock and Iris, giving them their scores. The remote clangs against a table and lands under the winged-back chair on her left. The knock on her door gets a little louder and Molly gives up turning off the telly, instead rushing to get the door before John gets worried, saying, “Sorry! Coming!” She pauses to catch her breath and opens the door, expecting to greet the couple waiting to pick up John’s baby with a slight flush on her face. When she opens the door, however, she finds that John stands there alone tonight, with a cab idling by. He doesn’t look upset, but Molly chooses not to mention it anyway. 

 

“Sorry John! She exhales - Rosie’s just in my bedroom sleeping. I’ll go fetch her. Meantime, won’t you come in?” Molly gestures at the hall. 

 

John looks at the cab and shrugs, “Sure, yeah, thank you, Molly.” 

 

“I won’t be long,” Molly calls, practically sprinting to get the baby as John cautiously walks into her living room. 

 

The telly is on and he looks at the screen curiously. A couple in brightly sequinned white and red outfits dances to a jolly beat. John smirks, Molly apparently enjoys watching pop dance shows. No surprise there. 

 

Molly returns with John’s toddler wrapped in her arms, and catches him looking at the screen. Her face goes beet-red and she says, with a nervous laugh, “Sorry. Guilty pleasure.” 

 

John grins at her, “It’s no worries. Looks entertaining.” Then, because he’s not quite sure what else to say he asks, “So who’s winning?” 

 

And Molly can’t help it. It just slips out, “Sherlock, surprisingly,” she answers with a laugh. Wait. Oh no! Her face grows impossibly more scarlet. 

 

John looks at her with an amused raised brow, “What?” He asks, confused by her answer. Had she just said _Sherlock?_  

 

Molly looks to the screen then back at John and says, quietly, “Er... I have to show you something. Here,” she passes John his baby, who barely makes a slight snuffle as John transfers her onto his shoulder and Molly goes over to the living room to grab her phone. 

 

John watches her move with a slightly concerned look on his face. She looks genuinely embarrassed and John begins - “Molly, are you alr-?”

 

But Molly cuts him off with a hand gesture for silence as she finishes tapping on her phone’s screen. She brings up a video, which she presents to John and...

 

There stands Sherlock in a dark sequinned top, grinning as he runs down some steps to talk to a woman, (something like... Tess Daly, if he was correct?) and gives her a kiss on the cheek when he reaches her. John doesn’t quite catch what they’re saying - the volume on the phone is on low for the baby’s benefit - but he doesn’t think he’d have heard it properly if he had been listening anyway, because again, that was Sherlock Holmes and he is standing on a stage surrounded by hundreds of people while he chats amiably with a television show host while wearing a sequinned blouse. Sequins! On Sherlock Holmes! What? What?! 

 

“Um... Molly...” John asks cautiously, “What is this?” 

 

Molly groans. “I don’t know, John,” She explains, “All I know is, I was watching the introductory episode two weeks ago when you asked me to watch Rosie and there he was! At first I didn’t really want to believe it but then I saw that it was actually him and then I couldn’t not watch it - I mean it’s Sherlock and, and, and, _glitter_!”

 

John blinks, stunned. If Sherlock has been doing this for at least three weeks then how is it possible that none of them has noticed? John is sure that at least one or two of the women at his practice is probably acquainted with the show, and many people know of his association with Sherlock, surely? He’s totally surprised at the fact that no one has bothered to tell him. John’s mind involuntarily reminds him though, that Sherlock doesn’t tell John very many things. He had, after all, disappeared for two years from John’s life, having faked his death, and had never bothered with so much as a small message to let John know he was alive. This was decidedly quite different, seeing as how Sherlock was not faking his death and making anyone mourn him but John still dealt a pang at being excluded from this. He especially felt the upsetting similarity of the fact that Molly knew and hadn’t told him. Well, except she’s told him now. He’d give her points for that. 

 

“John?” Molly asks nervously, breaking him from his thoughts. 

 

John shakes his head, passing her back her mobile. “Sorry,” he says, “Sorry, I guess I’m just...”

 

“Surprised? Shocked? Confused?” Molly suggests. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah all three.” 

 

“Me too.” She laughs her nervous little laugh again. 

 

“D’you... think we should ask him?” John intones. 

 

Molly blushes, “Oh god, John I’ve wanted to since I saw it but I just don’t know how to bring it up! ‘Hello Sherlock, is there a reason you’re dressing up in sequinned tights and dancing on live tv?’” 

 

She and John giggle. 

 

“Well,” John says, “guess i know what I’m doing when I get home. D’you think Greg knows? He’d have a laugh.” 

 

Molly groans, “I hope not. I don’t want Sherlock to be embarrassed. It’s why I haven’t told anyone so far. I mean, he’s doing quite well and he genuinely looks like he’s enjoying it... I dunno? I guess I want to be supportive?” 

 

John smiles at her. She’s so sweet and thoughtful. He worries for her sometimes - about how much she genuinely cares for Sherlock. She coddles him almost as if he were her son but at the same time is so devoted to him. He hopes that someday she meets someone who will love her the way she deserves to be loved. 

 

Brushing those ideas out of his mind he finally says, “I understand. Probably a good call,” he pauses, “anyway I’d best be off. Gotta get this little one into her own bed.” He shakes Molly’s hand in goodbye, “Thanks again for watching her, Molly. And um... thanks for showing me. About Sherlock I mean.” It’s his turn for an odd nervous laugh, “It’s a weird thing to find out but still good to know. At least it explains why I haven’t heard much from him.” 

 

“Of course, John. And yes, I understand.” Molly smiles, as she leads him to the door, helping him to sling Rosie’s overnight bag over his shoulder as they pass it, “but yes, it’s um... It’s my pleasure,” she says.

 

As he leaves, a sigh of relief escapes her. Finally, this weird secret is no longer hers to keep and telling John alone has made her feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She just hopes Sherlock doesn’t mind her telling. 

 

 

——- 

 

 

John tiptoes into the house, balancing the still sleeping baby in one arm while he locks the door behind him. 

 

“Honey?” He whispers, creeping inside, “darling, I’m home.” 

 

There isn’t an answer. John sniffs. He toes off his shoes and walks past their bedroom, peeking inside on his way to Rosie's room to finally let the child sleep in her crib. He smiles when he sees the sleeping form of his adoring partner fast asleep in their own bed. They had attempted to go on their usual date night this evening, but she’d had a shift at the hospital and was exhausted. In the end they’d agreed to finish the date early for her come home while John picked up Rosie from Molly’s. 

 

John thinks about joining his girlfriend after putting Rosie down, but he finds that he’s actually not all that tired. He’s also still curious about what Molly had shown him. He’d admittedly thought about it the whole cab-ride home, but had been unable to reach his phone with Rosie in his arms the way she was. He sneaks another peek at the sleeping brunette in his bed and decides to just go and sit in the living room instead... and maybe look up some videos of this dance show - just to see what Sherlock’s up to, of course. 

 

He opens up his laptop and plugs in some head phones, then lies on the couch with the machine balanced on his legs while his upper body is propped up with two couch cushions by the arm rest. He taps Sherlock’s name with the words “hit dance competition” into the search query and is immediately bombarded with gossip articles and links to videos. 

 

John peruses through a few articles, reading up on the competition and seeing a list of celebrity names - some of which he vaguely recognizes, and others which mean nothing to him. He learns a bit about how the show is judged and how it’s structured, going down a slight rabbit hole into a world of bedazzled sparkly dance fanatics until Sherlock’s name appears in his trip again and he remembers why he was looking up articles about Strictly Come Dancing in the first place. John goes back to his original search and looks over the various links provided under Sherlock’s name in combination with the show title. Many of the links seem to lead to forums on fan blogs talking about Sherlock being on the show. John doesn’t bother with them and finally elects to click on the first video link he finds on youtube, which has a title that reads, “Dancing Detective Decimates the competition with the Cha-Cha” with the descriptor: “Sherlock Holmes on Strictly Come Dancing”. The link opens up a new tab where the video buffers for a few seconds before a blonde woman, presumably the presenter of the show introduces, 

“Our Man of Mystery, Mister Sherlock Holmes and his partner, Iris Zaputannym.” The video transitions to a stage bathed in blueish green light. Sherlock and a petite blonde woman begin their dance to a staccato piano beat by facing the audience, holding one hand with their partner, stepping and tapping their feet forward and back in time with the music. As a trumpet is added to the song the blonde dancer twists into Sherlock’s arm and he moves to hold her securely by the waist as they sway against each other, both moving sensually with huge grins plastered on their faces, they then grip each other on hold and whip across the dance floor gracefully. 

 

John feels his face morphing into an expression of incredulity. His mouth opens in a slight gape with a hint of an amused smile while his brow raises in confusion, because John knew Sherlock could dance a waltz - he’d been rigorous in his training before John’s wedding - but never in a thousand years could John have guessed that Sherlock had the ability to move like _that_. He looked so happy, while doing it too, and that was what made this so strange. John couldn’t have imagined Sherlock ever being happy on the set of a popular national television show while dressed in glitter and sequins but there he was, smiling while he danced with a gorgeous woman on live tv. He’s not entirely surprised when the results are shown and Sherlock and his dance partner receive the highest score out of anyone in history of the show (according to the hostess speaking) on a first round. John has no words for it - he just knows that if there are more clips he simply _has_ to see them. 

 

John clicks on another link. This one is an interview of Sherlock - a sort of introduction of him to the show. John watches in amusement at Sherlock’s antics. He’s a good actor, he’ll give him that, anyone else would be fooled by his false charm and cheery smiles, but John isn’t. That false charm makes his brow wrinkle a bit and really makes him wonder why Sherlock is even on this show. Because there _has_ to be a reason for it, hasn’t there? Sherlock doesn’t normally concern himself with this sort of stuff, so what’s he doing here? What sort of scheme benefits from him grinning with false cheer in front of millions of people? 

 

John has enough of this video, the fake smiles and cheerful tone of voice coming off as eerie and impersonal to him. He clicks on another link. This one is of the hostess talking and John almost clicks a different link until the woman announces,

 

“up next we have our master of mystery, transforming from detective to dancer, the incredible Mr. Holmes!”

 

The clip shows Sherlock in a dark suit with a long black bedazzled coat and a shiny purple shirt beneath the black suit jacket between the shirt and the coat. He is smiling insincerely and running down some stairs from among a few other people (John correctly assumes they are other contestants) to stand by the blonde hostess. The audience claps and cheers, many holding up ‘I -heart- Sherlock’ signs and wearing deerstalker hats. John wonders how they even knew about this when he didn’t know a thing and is again a little hurt about being excluded. Still he watches curiously, recognizing this as likely being the video Molly had shown him a clip of earlier.

 

When Sherlock reaches the hostess, giving her a peck on the cheek as she hugs him in greeting the woman continues, “Mr. Sherlock Holmes! London’s crusher of crime!”

 

Sherlock gives her a small smile and greets her with a soft “Hello, Tess.”

 

The crowd cheers again. 

 

Tess grins, holding her microphone close, “You’ve got quite a lot of happy fans here this evening!”

 

Sherlock chuckles, “Yes, I am quite lucky to have them.” He waves his hand at them shyly. 

 

“Aww,” Tess says, “And are you as happy as them to be here with us?”

 

Sherlock beams, and it seems incredibly genuine when he says “Oh, I cannot _tell_ you how much of a pleasure it is for me to have been called here.” 

 

“Good, I’m glad! I’m sure we’re all glad to hear it, in fact. We’re definitely all excited to have you! I know I’m a huge fan of your blog, anyway!”

 

Sherlock gives her a pleased little smile and offers, “Ah yes, thank you, that’s all thanks to the efforts of a friend.”

 

Tess asks him, “Ah yes, and is your Doctor Watson here with you tonight?”

 

Sherlock’s pleased expression falters, “Ah no, I’m afraid I’ve been keeping my involvement with Strictly a bit of a secret from John. I’m sure if he finds out he’ll be impossible to live with, teasing me about the glitter and all that.” He winks at the screen, and gives a small chuckle. “Shhh. No one tell him. It’ll be a fun surprise,” he says in mock whisper.

 

The audience cheer again and Tess laughs saying, with a sweep of her arm, “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough. And speaking of finding things out, Mr. Holmes, can you deduce who we might have paired you with for the competition?”

 

The camera angles away from the pair and a group of six women are seen standing nearby, all dressed identically under a spot light. The crowd cheers again. The camera pans back on Sherlock as he says, “Oh I’ve some idea but I‘d rather not spoil the fun.” He grins mischievously. 

 

John rolls his eyes at that comment and mutters, amused, “Yeah I bet it was hard for you to hold back on that one, wasn’t it, Holmes? Bloody show-off.” 

 

There’s a slight pause of anticipation before Tess finally announces Sherlock’s partner for the competition, a Miss ‘Iris Zaputannym’ - John thinks it’s rather an odd name and very distinctly foreign. The woman, Iris, is petite in figure, pale with short blonde hair and hazel eyes.  John doesn’t get too much of a good look at the rest of her features as she squeals and jumps for joy at hearing she’s been paired with Sherlock. The woman practically sprints into Sherlock’s waiting open arms and buries her face in his neck as he catches her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground as she kicks her legs up behind her, still squealing. Sherlock, for his part, is smiling broadly and his thin long-fingered hands are splayed across her back as he drags himself slowly away from her in a way that can only be described as hesitant. The woman clings to his side, her smile as broad as Sherlock’s as she rocks against him, holding him close, almost like an old friend. John frowns at the image as the video cuts off, ending abruptly. 

 

The sight of Sherlock embracing the dancer stays with John for a moment longer. His mind replays the squealing woman jumping into the hug and Sherlock holding her tightly as if there were no one else in this world he’d have rather been holding. The thought sends a sharp pang into John’s heart for a second and he sits up to scrub his hands in his eyes, balancing the computer on his lap while he tries to rub the suddenly burning images of Sherlock touching this woman’s body and smiling against her on the dance floor. Just who the hell is Iris Zaputannym anyway? John begins to type her name into the search field before he stops himself, quickly changing his mind. What does it matter anyway? This is obviously for a case, just like it had been with Janine, isn’t it? It’s the only reasonable explanation, and if it _is_ a case, Sherlock will surely tell him about it later, won’t he? He had mentioned on live telly that he wanted it kept a secret from John because he was afraid John would tease him (and admittedly, John would, but only because he knew Sherlock would understand it was all in good fun), but John suspects that Sherlock only said that to keep up appearances and make the audience laugh. It has to all be part of the persona he’s clearly playing. 

 

John considers firing off a text to Sherlock to ask him about it but as he unlocks the screen on his phone he notices the time. It’s well-past midnight and while John is sure Sherlock is awake (especially if this _is_ a case), John’s girlfriend might question why he’s not already in bed. For some reason it feels odd to explain to her that he’d been up watching videos of his old flat mate dancing in a tight glittery outfit. He sighs and closes the laptop with a soft snap and puts it away. He isn’t sleepy yet, but he decides, with a sense of finality, that he should get to bed. Maybe he’ll text Sherlock in the morning, or go ‘round to Baker Street. John yawns and steps into the bathroom to get ready for bed, clicking the door shut behind him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will ask. 


	2. Donde estas y Que Paso?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock performs a Quickstep, the Charleston and a Foxtrot.   
> Molly meets someone special.  
> John takes a trip.  
> Greg finds out about Sherlock dancing.  
> John makes a deduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a whole clusterfuck of events... well... kinda. It was hard to write for some reason. I've barely done much editing on this one because it was a fuckin' doozy. I hope you guys like it though. I tried. ;-; I swear there is a plan. I promise.
> 
> No beta, no britpick - very little editing. 
> 
> I am lazy.
> 
> ps. The title means "Where are you and what happened?" It's part of the lyrics from 'donde estas yolanda?' I dunno. I had a hard time picking a title for this one. I almost named it clusterfuck.

Sherlock wipes the sweat from his brow, panting loudly in the lone studio. He’s not had a chance to practice this routine as much as he would have liked today, but he’s feeling rather tired as it is. Of course, he’d choreographed the whole routine with Irene months ago so he knows that he’ll get it right with a bit more practice but he’d rather not just rely on the fact that he’d been the one that made up the steps. The judges were harsh in their judgements, and while Sherlock was the top celebrity dancer so far, they’d be looking to see who the one that improved most would be as the competition wears on and the others begin to become more comfortable in their skin. It was obvious to see that this wouldn’t be an easy competition when the Judges had spoken to him this week and had given their advice. They had said that while he was still the best one they’d seen that night, his salsa routine being a fun and sensual one, that he had lacked a certain passion, and had criticized him on not really looking like he cared all that much about his partner – keeping her a little further apart from himself than they would have liked. They said the dance was certainly sexy, but that they weren’t convinced of Sherlock’s desire for her, which, in fairness, was accurate as Sherlock didn’t (and doesn’t) desire her – or any woman, for that matter – at all. But, he had to be more careful. He had to get better at faking that connection with his partner on that dance floor because if not he wouldn’t be near winning this thing, and it was absolutely vital that he stay ranking at least in the top three until he could solve this case. He sighs. It’s extremely difficult to practice this without his partner, though.

 

“ _Take a brea_ k,” her voice said to him in his head, “ _You need to relax, Sherlock, we won’t win this if you burn yourself out._ ”

 

He nods his head and swivels it around in a wide circle from one shoulder to the other in a stretch, feeling the bones in his neck relax. He sits on the ground breathing deeply and finally lays back so that his whole body is splayed on the floor. He allows his body a moment of rest as his mind goes back to the case. He truly loved Irene for this. She had been right, this isn’t an easy mystery to solve. It’s an absolute marvel of a puzzle. Everyone in this godforsaken business has a secret, making their investigation so much more difficult to solve. They’ve been working the case for months now and they’re no closer to a clear suspect than they were in the beginning, but they have uncovered a variety of fun or useful little pieces of information that may help them in the future. Irene is particularly good at sorting through the scandals, deciding on which they might need to use later and when. There are many dead ends to sort through as well, but well, at least now Sherlock is decidedly not bored. He grins and inwardly thanks his clever friend for giving him the chance to work on this with her. Being able to use his dancing skill set for the purposes of a case was a bit of a secret dream for him - a truth that he had only ever admitted to Janine when he’d tried to befriend her at John’s wedding (ugh). Thoughts of John rise to his mind again, at the reminder of Janine and distract him from thinking about any details of the case. He tugs at his hair in frustration and growls. That bit of emotional baggage was probably what was slowing him down. 

 

“Still here?” Irene says, steeping into the dance studio.

 

“Obviously.” Sherlock answers tersely from his position on the ground. He hadn’t heard her come in, the vile witch, a testament to how tired he was.

 

“You should come upstairs for bed. Save some of that practice for the cameras. The producers are complaining that they don’t have enough footage of your practice session this week, and you still need to do your voice-over interview.

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Boring,” he responds.

 

Irene kneels behind his head and bends down to kiss his forehead. “Come now, Mr. Holmes, you’ll think better once you’re rested,” she says, tugging on his shirt in a plea to get him to sit up.

 

Sherlock huffs, “How many times – you know I prefer my first name.” He does sit up but only to wipe the red lipstick off his face. She’d clearly applied it with the sole purpose of annoying him so she could do things like this.

 

“I know, darling,” She responds with a grin, “but I do so love to see those rose-petal lips in a pout.”

 

Sherlock glares at her through the mirror in front of him. “Foul strumpet,” he replies grumpily. Irene’s reflection grins at him. He gives her a tentative smirk in return and, turning around, offers her his hand, “You’re here, you might as well practice with me.”

 

Irene groans and pulls away from him, “Sherlock, no! I am _tired_! _Please_ , let’s just go to bed. You know you’ll be in an abominable mood tomorrow and we really can’t have the cameras catch you saying or doing anything crass. We need those votes. We might have the judges on our side but we also need the audience. We can’t afford a slip-up, not when we have so few leads. This monster needs to be caught, Sherlock. My friends are depending on me, and I’m depending on you.”

 

Sherlock doesn’t answer. Instead he stands and walks over to his phone and the little Bluetooth radio. He puts on the song for this week’s performance - Frank Sinatra’s “ _Come back to me_ ”- and then returns to Irene, who is still kneeling on the floor. He raises an eyebrow and offers her his hand. ‘ _That’s precisely why I need to practice_ ,’ his gesture says.

 

She rolls her eyes and finally relents. They swiftly step into the routine for this week’s quickstep challenge, and all talk about resting, the case and the production team ends as they begin to trot around the studio.

 

 

  
\--------------

 

  


The stage is bathed in bright blue and white lights. They wear classic looking ensembles for tonight’s performance (Sherlock in a tuxedo with some tasteful extremely thin flecks of dark blue glitter smattering the black suit and his partner in a long white dress with light flecks of silver glitter) and as the loud trumpets and the strong romantic voice fills the room Sherlock begins dancing to their arranged choreography in the center of the stage by a large prop building while his partner sits on top of it, as if she were dining on a roof top patio, wiggling her shoulders to the tune.

  
When Sinatra’s voice starts to sing: “ _Hear my voice, where you are, take a train, steal a car, Hop a freight, grab a star, come back to me…_ ” Sherlock’s rhythmic gestures beg for his paramour to join him below. In response, she bounces her way down the steps as the prop rotates and she climbs down to clasp hands with him. She places a delicate hand on his arm while he holds her waist and grasps her free hand in his, and they hop into their hold to twirl about the stage. They make wide arcs around the dance floor, never missing a beat, never missing a step. Their hold is relaxed and perfect. Sherlock can’t help but grin as he and his partner move gracefully around the area. He’s thankful for the extra practice time he’d insisted on because they are sure to do better today than they did last week. It’s absolutely transparent that they will be scoring high tonight, especially with Sherlock’s new plan on faking his passion for his partner.

 

Before the contest had started, when he and Irene had worked on song choices and choreography, he had had a clear vision in mind. It was important that he did, as he needed to stay in the competition for as long as possible until the case was solved, but with the nerves of the first and second performances combined with the pressures of staying had come Sherlock had lost sight of the vision.

 

Tonight, as he dances, he remembers the vision clearly. He’s not dancing with a woman tonight. He’s not dancing for her or for the case. He is dancing for the person he was thinking of when he chose his music for the competition. It’s terribly sentimental of him, and he almost hates the vulnerability he has to put forward, out in the open for thousands of viewers to see plain on his face, but he needs to keep his cover. He dances like he’s never danced before, the adrenaline keeping his energy levels high with each hop, jump and step. They twist and turn, they separate and trot to the beat and come back together into perfect hold. Step this way, and now that way, back and forth, this side to that side. The dance is exhausting and with every little bounce Sherlock lets his body take control, lets his mind relax with the words.

 

“ _… Anyway that you can, came back to me, Come back to me, come back to me, come back, back to me, me!_ ”  Sherlock and his partner pant as they strike their ending pose. They breathe heavily almost into each other’s mouths as the audience explodes into loud cheers and whoops. They’ve done it! They’ll be staying on for another week at least. They have to be, after this dance, and thank God for that. 

 

They laugh as they break free of their embrace.

 

 

 

_______________________

 

 

Molly is in the morgue working on her most recent autopsy. She’s humming along to the Sinatra Song that Sherlock and Iris had crushed their competition with this week. As she hums along to the song while she works she reflects on how proud she is of Sherlock’s recent all-9 score along with the amount of votes he got this Sunday. And it was no wonder they had done so well - Sherlock and Iris had been brilliant Saturday night! They were bloody gorgeous together! And the choreography- oh it had fit so well with the song! It really looked like Sherlock missed his partner every time they separated and the ecstasy of having her back in his arms was so believable every time she came back to him. It was an absolute marvel to watch. Not only were Sherlock’s fans greatly devoted to him, most of London was enamored of him now as well, especially when they’d watched him and Iris speak about not only Sherlock’s devotion to the show in his interviews or even when the show highlighted his heroics as a detective, but also when they shared a small insight into his old struggles with addiction. Sherlock had not only been presented as a hero on the show now – no, now, with this interview, he was also presented as _human_. They didn’t shame his struggle and his sobriety was shown as the victory it was. Many people, especially fans, were incredibly kind and showed their support for him. The sentimentality of the story and his ability to be vulnerable with everyone made him so much more approachable now. He gained much more supporters than Molly had thought he would with just that interview and it looked like he hadn’t lost any on the way. And how could he have, when he had spoken with such great sincerity? Molly had nearly cried at seeing it. Sherlock was showing a side of himself to London that he’d never shown them before and it was working to his advantage - the people were proving to be just as infatuated with him as Molly was, despite (or perhaps because of) his flaws. They were seeing the man beneath the coat and, clearly, they loved what they saw.

 

Molly continues to humming her song as she finishes stitching the Y incision on the body up. As she cuts that last thread she hears muffled voices coming towards her from down the hall. 

 

“... likely no one’s in right now so you have nothing to worry about,” Sherlock’s voice is saying. 

 

As he opens the door Molly visibly jumps back with a squeak, and so hilariously so does Sherlock. 

 

“MOLLY!” He gasps with a large nervous grin, shoving the person that’s with him behind his back. “Doing an autopsy at this hour?”

 

“Sherlock!” Molly feels her cheeks pinken, “Hi! Ehm, yes - Everyone else was... unavailable. Er... d’you need something?” 

 

“Sherlock!” The heavily accented voice of Iris says from behind him, and the Russian beauty walks into the room looking huffy. She has a red beret on her head covering all of her golden locks and wears a long dark blue coat very similar to Sherlock’s. Her hazel eyes take in the room as she enters it, poking his ribs, “Careful! You will break my delicate ankles,” she scolds. “Hello, dear,” She continues, turning her attention to Molly, “And are you a friend of Sherlock’s?”

 

“Oh!” Molly gasps, hardly being able to believe that the celebrity dancer is in the room with her. “Er, hi, yes, I’m - My name’s Molly,” she stutters. 

 

The Russian woman gives her a Cheshire grin and looks to Sherlock with a sly expression, “Sherlock, you naughty boy,” she says, “Were you keeping this adorable little mouse from us on purpose?” 

 

Something about the way she says it makes Molly’s already pink cheeks burn more. 

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Leave her be.” He hisses at Iris.

 

Molly still hasn’t let Sherlock know she’s been obsessively watching him on tv though, and while she’s feeling a little star struck especially under Iris’ scrutinizing and playful gaze she decides to attempt to make it look like she doesn’t know who the beautiful woman is. She stumbles nervously and, looking to Sherlock, she says with a light little giggle, “So, um, who’s this then? Client?”

 

Sherlock looks directly at Molly with his own scrutinizing gaze and a raised brow while Iris’ wolffish grin grows bigger. “Of sorts...” Sherlock finally answers, giving Molly a suspicious look while Molly studiously ignores not looking at Iris’ almost predatory smile. He holds a hand in Iris’ direction, “Iris, meet Molly, Molly, meet Iris.” 

 

Iris takes three confident steps forward and kisses Molly’s hand in greeting before Sherlock can stop her. “Pleasure to meet you, Molly,” the gorgeous dancer purrs. 

 

Molly smiles nervously feeling her stomach do a funny little flip, “Um, hi,” she says, pulling a strand of hair out of her face and looking in Sherlock’s direction awkwardly in a plea for help. 

 

Sherlock, however is predictably looking at the dead body Molly has just stitched up and not paying them any attention. 

 

Iris doesn’t let go of Molly’s hand as she walks over to Sherlock, dragging Molly with her, “Anything interesting?” She asks. 

 

“Shut-up.” Finally, standing up straight, Sherlock takes mercy on Molly and gives Iris a light pinch on the shoulder, “Let go of her, you tart. Sorry about her Molly - she’s a shameless harlot.” 

 

Iris lets go of Molly’s hand at Sherlock’s pinch and replies something to him in Russian then she says, in English, “You ruin all my fun.” Just as Molly blurts shyly, “It’s fine.”

 

“Anaphylactic shock?” Sherlock asks Molly of the body as she tries to recover from what she’s just said and attempts to ignore Iris’ mischievous expression at her response. 

 

“Er, yes, peanuts, I’m afraid. Couldn’t get to his epi pen on time.”

 

“Ah. Is he a donor?” 

 

Molly frowns at Sherlock’s question and says, a little more confidently, “No, so don’t even think about it, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

Sherlock gives Molly that funny little smirk that makes her heart skip a beat. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean, Molly.” It was nice, this. Molly was glad that their friendship had recuperated since that phone call years ago. She can’t imagine what it would be like, not seeing Sherlock in her morgue just waiting to filch some body parts for his many odd experiments.

 

Right now, though, it’s Molly’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over her chest in an obvious show of disapproval. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, her nerves still bothering her inside but the shakiness of her voice under much more control. She’d almost forgotten what Sherlock was really like after watching him act completely differently on television. Finally, she asks, “Is there a reason you’re here at this hour Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock seems to hesitate and he looks to Iris who had watched the exchange between Molly and Sherlock with great amusement. He tells Iris something in Russian. 

 

Iris frowns and answers him a little tersely.

 

“She helped me fake my death and kept it a secret for two years, Iris” Sherlock says, seeming to stumble on the Dancer’s name nervously as he says, pleadingly, “We can trust Molly. I trust Molly. The more help we have the better.”

 

Iris looks to him and then looks to Molly. Finally, she rolls her eyes and waves her hands up in exasperation, “Fine!” She says, her accent adding to the apparent annoyance she feels at letting Sherlock do as he pleases, “Fine, do as you like!” 

 

Molly frowns. She’d seemed so charming a minute ago, “It’s fine. I can leave,” she says tersely. 

 

She’s surprised however, when Sherlock stands in front of her, not allowing Molly to go and flicks Iris’ shoulder, saying, “Behave, wench,” then, turning to Molly he says, “Stay, please. I think it might be better if you do. We need all the help we can get.”

 

Molly almost protests, but then Iris takes her hand again and says, “My apologies. He’s right. Please, stay.”

 

The four eyes that look at Molly imploringly are almost too much to handle. 

 

Dammit.

 

Molly stays.

 

 

_______________________

 

 

 

John decides not to text Sherlock asking about the show. He has this biting feeling inside of him that Sherlock doesn’t want him to ask. He does still text him on occasion – normal things – stuff he normally texts Sherlock, such as “Hi, how are you?” or “How’s your day going?” along with occasional photos of Rosie doing something cute. Sherlock, as usual doesn’t respond to most of John’s texts, especially the mundane ones that ask about his day. He’ll text back maybe hours or days later with simple responses.

 

“Hello. Fine.”

“Good.”

“She’s getting taller.”

 

Eventually, after a whole week of waiting to see if Sherlock will ask him to help with the case, and with Sherlock dodging him, John grows a little frustrated and gives up on the hope of being called to help at all. Clearly, if Sherlock isn’t going to say something to him about it, then he is deliberately keeping John out and John is not keen to interfere where he is obviously not wanted. He doesn’t go see Sherlock, and he doesn’t watch or follow-up on Sherlock’s process in the competition. He finds that he doesn’t like to explore the feelings of uneasiness he’s gotten after the images of Sherlock embracing his dance partner had haunted him that first night he’d seen them. At first, he tells himself it’s because it just feels so wrong seeing him look so tactile and fake on a screen, knowing everyone thinks that the mask he’s putting forward is a real picture of him… but part of him – a part that he’s decided to keep buried deep inside of himself, going so far as to deny its existence even to himself – part of him is afraid that Sherlock is having fun on this case without John. That same part of him whispers darkly in his ear at night, telling him his worst fear – that Sherlock doesn’t need him anymore.

 

 

So, when John’s girlfriend decides that they should take a trip Dublin with Rosie in order to attend a conference with many of their colleagues, John agrees immediately. Being away from London for a bit will at least keep him from the temptation of following up on Sherlock’s activities, or worse finally cracking and deciding to go visit him. John packs his and Rosie’s things and they leave the city to be away for at least a couple of weeks.

 

 

 

 

_______________________

 

 

Greg walks down the halls of Scotland yard with a neatly organized packet of papers inside of a manila folder under his arm and a coffee cup in his hand. He’s just gotten the results from an autopsy for a the most recent case he’s working on. He makes his way somberly to his office to review the information. The crime was a bit gruesome, and he hates to be thinking about murder on a Saturday evening but such is the nature of the job.  
  
“ _No **way**_ ,” Greg hears Sally’s voice say out in the hall as she stands with her head pressed near another of their colleagues’. She giggles, “No, pass me that,” she continues in a voice of joyous incredulity as she wrenches the phone from the other person’s hand. 

 

“What’s going on?” Greg asks them with a smile as he turns the corner. 

 

Sally’s grin when she sees Greg grows even bigger. “Greg!” Sally exclaims happily, “You have _got_ to see this!” She’s practically vibrating as she passes him the phone, taking his coffee so he can hold the machine in his hand. 

 

Greg hears a semi-familiar theme song with trumpets that he vaguely recognizes as one of those pop celebrity reality TV shows his ex-wife seemed to enjoy so much emanating from the device. He rolls his eyes and pushes the phone away from himself. 

 

“Oh no! No, no, I’m quite sure I don’t want to see that,” he says, waving the hand with the phone in it in a negative gesture, “not my thing,” he adds.

 

“Greg!” Sally insists, pressing the phone firmly back at him just as he attempts to return it “trust me, you _want_ to see this.” The officer whose phone this is just smiles and nods encouragingly.

 

Greg still isn’t sure, but he decides it might be a welcome distraction before he gets back to the murder he’s investigating. He takes the offered phone and turns on the paused video. At first, he almost rolls his eyes, having no idea why he’s watching a blonde woman and a skinny git twirling around a stage. Then he sees it. He sees why Sally is being so insistent, because the skinny twirling git... is Sherlock Holmes – and what’s more… the git can _move_. Well damn, if that wasn’t a surprise…

 

“Wow, he’s pretty good i’nnee?” Greg says out loud as he watches a video that was apparently posted a few days ago, according to the date below the video link. In the video, Sherlock is dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a flashy gold tie. He wears matching shoes and the woman dancing with him wears a short sparkly tasseled golden dress. Sherlock’s hair is combed and gelled to an old-fashioned style as he and his partner dance to the tune of a song styled like something from the nineteen-twenties.

 

“I know!” Sally repeats, her voice a mixture of excitement and disbelief, “He’s on again tonight, and look – apparently, he’s been doing this for five weeks now! The one you’re watching now is from last week, he performed a Charleston, and the week before that a quickstep – but it’s the salsa one you’re going to wat to really see.” Sally takes the phone back and taps the screen until the right video comes on, then turns in back for Greg to see.

 

Greg watches, still a bit stunned as Sherlock twists and turn to a Latin beat with the same blonde woman from the video he’d been watching a minute ago. “No kidding…” Greg answers, smiling broadly, “Look at that! I had no idea he could be so…”

 

“Sensual?” The officer from whom Sally had stolen the phone responds with an equally broad grin.

 

Sally grimaces looking disgusted and Greg laughs saying, “I was going to say bold.” He looks at Sally with a wide smile, “D’you think John knows?”

 

Sally shrugs, but smirks, “Probably. D’you think he helps him rehearse?” Her smirk becomes a bit more suggestive, the implication clear in her voice.

 

Greg frowns at that, “Sally…” he warns.

 

She raises her hands innocently, “Hey I’m just saying…” she says and walks away still smirking. Surely, she’ll be going on to spread the footage of Sherlock dancing around the office. Greg considers reprimanding her, but considering it’s clearly already all over the internet he decides to forgo the head-ache of saying anything, besides, if anything Sherlock would probably be proud. He’s actually not a bad dancer at all. Greg smiles at that. Who knew? And then, with another though, he pulls over the officer whose phone Sally had been using and asks her to text him the link to the video. She smirks knowingly and complies.

 

Greg walks into his office and sits down at his desk to watch the full video of Sherlock’s routine on his own phone. He allows himself a small chuckle of wonder at his friend’s newly revealed hidden skill. Sally was right to show him. The footage is a welcome distraction from the photographs and the information hidden in his manila folder. Before opening his file, he decides to satisfy his curiosity. He fires off two texts, one to Sherlock and one to John.

 

For Sherlock, he sends a message with a screen shot of Sherlock dipping his dance partner followed by a bunch of crying-laughing emoticons and question marks, along with the clapping hands.

  
Sherlock replies immediately: Shut up. – SH  


For John, he copies the link of Sherlock’s most recent performance, the one Sally had called a Charleston, and pastes it to a message he sends to John with the added caption, “You seen this yet? Apparently, he’s on again tonight.”

 

John doesn’t answer him.

 

 

  
_______________________

 

 

 

“You ready?” Molly asks Sherlock backstage as another of the competition’s couples dances on the stage, performing a rather sloppy yet passionate cha-cha.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Sherlock responds.

 

“You’ll do great.” Molly encourages.

 

Sherlock gives her a small smile, “Thank you Molly. And thank you for your help.”

 

Sherlock takes his dance partner’s hand – and squeezes it for support. Molly smiles at them both as they breathe. Just two more couples and they’ll be on next. Here goes nothing.

 

 

_______________________

 

 

John is just putting Rosie to bed when he gets a text from Greg. It’s a link to a video and the caption beneath it just says “You seen this yet? Apparently, he’s on again tonight.” John’s face pales a little. He knows what the video link is… and he’s been avoiding searching for any of these for weeks, but now that Greg has sent the link... God John can barely resist. He sits on the hotel bed and looks to the door. His girlfriend has just gone out to drink with a couple of their colleagues. Likely she’ll be back in a few hours. Dammit.

 

John clicks the video.

 

The stage is lit in golden lights. Sherlock stands in the center of the stage in a black suit with a tight white shirt and a shiny golden tie. One of his hands reaches slowly above him as a woman’s voice begins singing “ _I used to be so happy but without you here I feel so low…_ ” and then the music in the background suddenly becomes quick, and Sherlock strikes his body into action, turning and beginning a stepping sequence towards his partner who materializes in a golden fringed dress from behind a shower of beads of the same color, dancing towards him. They reach each other’s hands and begin to swivel back towards the center of the stage where they separate again as they dance to the quick rhythm. “ _I watched you as you left but I can never seem to let you go, 'Cause once upon a time you were my everything, It’s clear to see that time hasn’t changed a thing…”_ The singer continues. Sherlock and the golden-haired woman move with a purpose. They have broad smiles on their faces as they dance, despite the sad message of the song. There’s something about that… the words of the song resonate in John as he watches the performance unfold. The sorrowful voice of the singer and the words of the song contrasts with the jaunty rhythm and yet… it works. Their dance looks happy, as Sherlock and his partner – Iris, John reminds himself – prance to the beat. He can feel a longing in the lyrics and see it every time Sherlock and Iris separate. They swing their hands side to side and kick their legs back and forth. They twist and turn, Sherlock lifting his partner all over the stage, spinning her around and flipping her up into the air, only to catch her safely in his arms, _“I’ll never forget you And you’ll always be by my side From the day that I met you, I knew that I would love you 'til the day I die,”_ Sherlock swings the woman up and twirls her once more, their legs kicking out once more. As the song comes to an end they perform one last flip and again Sherlock catches Iris safely, she twirls away from him one last time so that when the sorrowful voice sings its last note Sherlock is reaching out for her sitting on the ground and she has gone back to the space she’d hidden in before the song has started. John is simply awed.

 

Sherlock looks so sad, his panting breaths barely evident. Finally, the audience explodes into cheering and he seems to shake himself free. He stands and his partner runs back out from behind the beads to join him by the hostess’ side. Sherlock now has a broad grin on his face and so does Iris. John can’t help but feel like he’s seen that grin somewhere before, but he can’t place it. He watches as the show hostess speaks to the judges, asking their opinions on Sherlock’s performance.

 

A very camp man with an accent who is nearest the hostess answers, clapping, “Oh, marvelous! Simply marvelous, darling! Oh, you had such a perfect routine this week, there’s not much I can say! Your expression! Your feeling! My god! What can I say? Just wonderful! Simply wonderful!”

 

Sherlock and Iris nod their heads, breathing heavily.

 

“Thank you,” Iris says, in a low smoky and heavily accented voice.

 

The hostess moves down the line to two other judges, both female, whom both say similar things, clapping proudly. When the hostess reaches the last host, a more severe looking man… John thinks he had at some point read that he was called Craig, or something like that? – ‘Craig’ stands and claps.

 

Iris and Sherlock’s grins broaden impossibly more ecstatic. Clearly this is the guy to impress. “Bruno was right, what can we say? It was a beauty to watch. Sherlock, you have surprised us from the beginning. When you first came on stage, I admit I thought you would be an awkward gangly mess, but each and every week you have proved me wrong. Brilliant job. Fabulous. I do, however, have to comment on one thing –”

 

The crowd behind him interrupts him with loud boo’s and heckles. Sherlock and Iris look nervous but say nothing. Craig frowns, “No, no, hush it’s not a bad thing – I just wanted to comment on your song choice – it’s not a bad choice – in fact, it’s a very beautiful and bold one, but I have to ask, because one I wouldn’t mention, and two is a coincidence, but three…”

 

Sherlock’s face seems to pale at that, but still he says nothing, only nodding minutely for the judge to continue.

 

The first judge, Bruno, rises from his seat and looks over at ‘Craig’ in understanding – “Oh, yes! I caught that too!” He exclaims.

 

Both Judges look at Sherlock with a glint in their eye as they say, in eerie unison, “Dear, sweet Sherlock, who is the wicked lady that has broken your heart?”  
  
John’s stomach feels like it drops at Sherlock’s reaction, because Sherlock – bold, abrasive, ‘romantic-entanglements-might-be-fulfilling-for- _some_ -people’ Sherlock – honest to god blushes. He rubs a hand behind his head and laughs nervously as the Hostess and the other female judges squeal in understanding.

 

Iris covers her mouth as she looks at Sherlock and giggles.

 

“Oh, my goodness!” Tess Exclaims, “You’re too precious!”

 

Sherlock looks bashful under the scrutiny, but he braves it out with another soft little laugh. For a second, just a brief second, his eyes seem to flick to the dancer next to him and John feels an odd sensation in his stomach again – as if it is plummeting further into an empty abyss. Neither the judges nor the hostess seem to notice that very slight little look, but John does and he doesn’t hear the answer Sherlock gives the judges in reply, because as Sherlock speaks John finally gets a good look at Iris’ face. He stares at it on the screen, having followed that small barely-there glance. The blonde woman standing next to Sherlock, John knows now where he’s seen her before, because while her hair colour may be different and she appears to be wearing coloured contacts there is no mistaking that all-knowing smirk. That woman isn’t named Iris Zaputannym. That woman next to Sherlock Holmes, the one that has been dancing with Sherlock this whole time, touching him, caressing him, smiling and laughing with him for what looks like months now, is none other than Irene Adler.

 

John feels his heart pound faster and his breathing come in shallower breaths. She’s here. She’s back. So _that’s_ why Sherlock hadn’t answered John’s calls. Of _course_ , it is. Of _course_ , it’s her. Something burns inside of John then. He taps on the next recommended video of Sherlock and ‘Iris’ dancing and now he can’t un-see it. The woman Sherlock guides and glides in a quickstep that John hadn’t seen before – the woman Sherlock had caressed during that sensual salsa, the woman he’d twirled into his arms in a cha-cha during his introductory dance – that was Irene. There was no mistaking it. John goes through interviews of them. Now that he’s noticed it’s her, he doesn’t know how he missed that smoky teasing voice, even through that thick accent. He knows it’s her, one hundred percent though, when he sees one particular clip of her, sitting in 221B, on the couch, dressed in one of Sherlock’s robes over her white t-shirt and jeans as she hugs an exhausted Sherlock to her chest. Again, he’s no idea what they’re talking about in the interview – he’s been devouring footage of them for almost an entire hour just to be sure he wasn’t wrong.

 

He isn’t.

 

John tries to calm himself. He’s not sure why the evidence of confirming that the blonde “ _Iris_ ” is actually Irene disturbs him so much. That little dark part of himself that had earlier whispered _‘He doesn’t need you anymore, that’s why_ ,’ now sounds suspiciously like Irene’s voice. He shakes the thought away, biting his lip. Isn’t this what John had asked Sherlock to do, almost two years ago, when he’d guessed that Irene had texted Sherlock for his birthday? He’d told Sherlock to go after her before he’d cried into his arms. He’d told him not to miss another opportunity. He’d called him a moron. “ _Go after her_ ,” he’d said. He should be happy for him… shouldn’t he? But he just can’t fight this feeling of foreboding… of wrongness.

 

Without realizing what he’s doing John turns on the telly. It’s still early, so the program must be on again tonight. He hopes he doesn’t miss another moment. He finds the channel broadcasting the program fairly quickly and settles in to watch. He just hopes he hasn’t missed Sherlock’s performance this evening yet.

 

Currently a couple dressed in white waltzes to a version of a romantic American pop song that seems to have a tune he vaguely recognizes _. “Take you to every party 'cause all you wanted to do was dance_ , Now my baby's dancing, But she's dancing with another man,” the voice wails as the couple in white twists and twirls around the stage. John frowns minutely as he watches them dance. He recognizes right away that this isn’t Sherlock and Irene dancing and looks on at their waltz impassively. He isn’t really interested in seeing them, and their steps don’t seem to match up with the song. He leaves the telly on but switches his attention back to his phone, deciding to have a look through more of Sherlock and Irene’s interviews, trying to see if there is any indication of a reason she might be here or a clue with as to why she’s pretending to be a famous Russian dancer. Instead he finds himself staring at Sherlock’s red-rimmed eyes on the tiny screen while the deep baritone narrates to the camera.

 

“I struggled with it for years, my addiction, and I couldn’t be where I am today if not for the faith and support of my good friends. I always thought sentiment was some kind of chemical defect found on the losing side… but it appears I was quite wrong. The love and care I have received from those around me has saved me more times than I could ever count.” Sherlock’s voice cracks and the video ends. John feels a lump in his throat as he swallows at Sherlock’s admission. He’d never said something like that in John’s presence, and it feels wrong to hear him say it on live television like that. He looks so open and so vulnerable.

 

On the telly the waltzing dancers finish their song to the last melodies of the song, the singer lamenting with a few last cries for all the things he should have done for his lost love.

  
The judges begin talking to them about their performance.   
  
John tunes them out again in favour of another video clip of Sherlock. This one is of a dance performance from the week before. John looks up the song lyrics after the number is finished and compares them to the other songs Sherlock and Irene had danced to. So, this is why the judges were questioning his song choices. Most of them were heart-breakingly stroppy in their words, and similar to the song that had just been danced to by this other couple, had the underlying theme of a lost love. John didn’t really understand that. Had Sherlock picked these songs before he’d known Irene was going to be his partner on this show? Or, did he pick them to show her how he felt? John is beginning to question whether or not Sherlock is on this show for a case at all. It seems now, that perhaps he came on the program to get her attention? It seems like something both of them might be mad enough to do, but why would Sherlock do that? Sure, he had to know already that the woman was crazy about him – why else would someone consistently send flirty texts for well over four or five years. She was mad about him, clearly. Maybe this is a romantic gesture from the two of them to each other?

 

John is finally broken out of his reverie as the hostess announces the upcoming dancers. John’s breath catches in his throat in anticipation.

 

“…performing the fox trot this week – Sherlock and Iris.”

 

The video feed cuts to Sherlock and Iris (Irene) in a studio, holding each other and prancing about the room while Iris chants, “And one and two and, that’s it…” The video cuts again, this time to both of them sitting snuggled close to each other on the floor, Sherlock’s arm thrown casually around her as they wipe their brows. Sherlock’s voice speaks over the scene, saying, “We’ve been practicing non-stop for this number, as usual but I feel like I’m finally getting the hang of getting in some down time.”

 

Irene speaks next as the video cuts to them sitting in 221b, “Yes, I was dangerously close to dragging you to a girl’s spa day yesterday,”

 

Sherlock grins at her, “With all the emotional exhaustion coming from my secret being spilled last week on television I may have welcomed it.” He winks.

 

Irene laughs, “Oh, my sweet Sherlock. It’s like he’s made of honey isn’t it?” She holds onto his arm while Sherlock raises a brow, though his smile is still there.

 

“She’s been as insufferable as the lot of you. Thanks for that, by the way, Craig, Bruno. I do hope you enjoy my performance this week as I’ve made it just a touch more personal, which I hope everyone will appreciate.”

 

The video ends and the stage is set. At the back of the stage there’s a sort of set placed in as a backdrop obscuring the band. John gasps as he immediately recognizes the space that the set is emulating. It looks like the living room of 221b – the black and white damask wallpaper, the smiley face, the skull poster, a coffee table and a couch, complete with a brooding lying detective, lying on it in one of his posh suits, his hands steepled under his chin.

 

A piano plays a couple of notes as a woman’s sweet husky voice sings, “Oh, oh… Oh, oh…”

 

Sherlock sits up and faces the audience as Irene steps onto the stage. He stands up and starts slinking towards her, stepping over the coffee table as he has done so many times at home, _“I eat my dinner in my bath tub and then I got to sex clubs, watching freaky people, getting’ it on…_ ” they reach each other and Sherlock immediately takes her hand, spinning her so that her arms are crossed in front of her while he stands behind her and they sway to the romantic tune, “ _and it doesn’t make me nervous, if anything I’m restless,”_ they twist and turn each other into their hold and begin to circle the stage gracefully. They move elegantly to the tune of the woman’s raspy voice. Their feet seem to float on the floor as they glide this way in that. “ _well you’re gone and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind, boo-buh, boo- buh, oh, high all the time to get you off my mind…_ ” Sherlock spins Irene and brings her to him, holding her close, their faces cheek to cheek, they separate and make a wide a flourish then come back into their hold, their feet moving faster this time as they prance to the beat of the song. Their faces seem the very picture of a couple completely infatuated with one another, “ _Spend my days, locked in haze but I fall back down. I gotta stay high all my life to forget I’m missing you…_ ” John shuts his eyes. He can barely stand to look at more. The combination of thoughts that come with the song, of Sherlock lying on the couch in 221b, dosing himself with narcotics – the thought of him doing it because he… because he missed Irene. That breaks his heart a little bit. John had pushed him to be with her, told him to go after her, but how can she look so fucking happy with him right now, hearing those words? Hearing that he’d harm himself while she was away from him? He wasn’t quite sure he approved of the idea of their relationship if he thought about it that way. Did she have no conscious thought to what she was doing to him? Just a few years ago he’d almost died of an overdose. Was this song an admission from Sherlock? Had he just pretended to be sober again for John’s sake and gone home to get high again? And for what? Over her? Over this woman that was clearly a psychopath – because she _is_ , if she considers his admission to be romantic. It isn’t romantic. His suffering over her isn’t cute. He could die. Sherlock was much more vulnerable a person in heart than he let on. The very idea that he might feel like this, like he needs to get high to escape the pain of missing someone he so dearly loves – it sickens him. As the last notes of the song end, John opens his eyes to see a scene of the woman sitting on the coffee table looking back on Sherlock, who lies again on the couch in the same position he had started the song in. John feels involuntary tears in his eyes.

 

There’s a hush over the room again and then everyone – everyone in that audience stands. They cheer madly, whooping and screaming. Sherlock and Irene quickly stand, take their bows and wave at them, Irene blowing kisses. They finally turn to and jog up to the hostess in order to hear the verdict from the judges.

 

“My goodness! Oh my goodness indeed!” The blonde hostess smiles at them, her face teary-eyed even through her grin. “How are you feeling after all that?”

 

Sherlock and Irene pant and giggle, “Oh we’re feeling great,” Sherlock responds with a smug look, “How are you feeling, Tess?” He turns the question on her in a teasing tone.

 

Tess wipes a tear from her face with no restraints, “You caught me. I’m quite emotional over it,” Her laugh is a little watery as she turns to the judges, all of which are also smiling, and some of which are doing so while dabbing at their eyes as well. “And it looks like some of our judges are teary eyed as well, isn’t that right Darcey

 

“That was so heart-breaking,” the blonde judge, Darcey, comments, “And yet so beautiful and so romantic. I could hardly concentrate on the two of you! There was so much of you in that dance! It was very breathtaking.”

 

“Yes! I’m so happy to have gotten to see you dance like this Sherlock, really I am. You were the couple I was most worried would end up disappointing me after that first dance, to be honest – you see I was afraid that you’d done so well that you wouldn’t be able to top it, but somehow you have! Each and every week you two walk onto this stage and manage to do a dance that’s better than the last. I don’t know how you do it but I am happy for it. You’ve pushed all the other dancers to try harder and we’ve seen so many wonderful performances tonight. You two are the ones to beat, and everyone knows it.” The other female judge answers, her dark-haired head nodding in agreement.

 

“I agree completely! Oh fabulous! You truly did show us something personal tonight eh? We’re so happy to discover your romantic side, Sherlock, truly we are. We’re glad to have you share your – oh – your longing and love! Whoever that lucky person in your life is, I hope they deserve you,” the accented Bruno comments.

 

There’s a slight silence of apprehension, as there seems to be most of the time with this last judge, Craig. Everyone sort of looks to him with a nervous energy, but the man seems to surprise them all when he beams. “Well, I completely agree. Not only were you very elegant in your performance, as the foxtrot should be, you managed, again to give a melancholy song a sort of romance and energy that one would likely not associate with such a quick dance. Your choreography was well done, and I suppose you have Iris to thank for that, but I really loved that you added such a personal note to it. You kept showing us your heart-break theme, and although we are no longer as surprised by it as we were last week you managed to find a new angle to give to us in the story. Your performance tonight had everything – it had technical success, it had a story and it had emotion. Loved it. Perfection. Keep it up.”

 

Sherlock and Irene jump into each other’s arms and hug, laughing brightly and directing various “thank you”’s to the judges. John glares at the screen a little bit. He isn’t sure how he feels about everyone gushing over Sherlock using an emotional and physical vulnerability of his just to win some silly competition. What is Irene doing to him this time?

 

“Well, there you have it, you got us all to cry for you Sherlock. Well done. Now go on up and go tell Claudia all about it,” Tess encourages and Sherlock and Irene disappear up some stairs to go talk to another hostess.   
  
John shuts off the telly and lies back on the hotel bed. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. He picks his phone back up and scrolls through the few contacts on it. Somehow, he finds himself tapping on Sherlock’s name.

 

He types in a message for him, “Are you alright?” He frowns, deletes it, types again, “So she’s back then?” No, that’s not right. He’s not sure why he’s typing ut messages to him at all. John contemplates the why’s as he watches himself type and delete another message. He considers his feelings and finds… he wants to let Sherlock know that he’s seen the video footage, that he knows about Irene, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it. He’s not exactly happy about it (and why is that, Watson?) but he doesn’t want to actively discourage Sherlock from finally seeking out his romantic relationship with the woman. Finally, he settles on a simple text – one that he could send that tells Sherlock that John knows, but that doesn’t make him sound like he’s some… some… overly-concerned jealous pining girl or something. “Congratulations.” He sends the text.

 

Sherlock doesn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said earlier this chapter was a challenge to write. So much happened.  
> First Sherlock and Irene did one dance. Then Molly meets Irene. Then John goes away and is sad. Then Sherlock and Irene do another dance, which Greg watches and is like "Lol this is great." and then John finds out Irene is Iris and then Sherlock and Irene dance again and then John - bless him - HE TEXTS SHERLOCK BECAUSE HE'S A JEALOUS MESS! Aha! Ahahahahaha! 
> 
> Kill me.
> 
> I think it's rather obvious that Irene is Iris, though. I mean... Iris? Come on. Who didn't see that coming? lol Also If you follow me on tumblr, you already knew that Irene was Iris because I spoiled it for you. I posted that the whole idea behind this story was that John would see Sherlock dance a certain song with Irene and ... things would happen. So... my bad. Oops. But also I didn't list an OC in the tags. AND also, not sure if anyone got this but, for her last name, here was my logic: Adler - Addler? - I know it's not a real word but I took it to be be like, one who "addles" aka 'confuses'. Then I was like confusion.. how do you say that in Russian? So I google translated the word "confusing" to Russian and it gave me this: "запутанным" with the English pronunciation as "Zaputannym" And that is where Irene's hilariously bad alias came from. 
> 
> I'm not sure if you've figured out Irene's text from the previous chapter. I won't reveal the answer just yet, as I plan on having her reveal it later on in the story to someone else, but congrats to those of you that have bothered to even try or who already figured it out. It's not really that important anyway XD
> 
> Anyway I'm done talking now.
> 
> The songs for this chapter were:  
> for the Quickstep - Come back to me by: Frank Sinatra Sinatra  
> for the Charleston – Never forget you by: Zana Larsson, but the Cover done by Postmodern Jukebox in a 1920's Gatsby style ft. Addie Hamilton on vocals.  
> for the Foxtrot- Habits: by Tove Lo, but the postmodern jukebox 1930’s cover ft. Haley Reinhart on vocals
> 
> thanks for reading
> 
> As i said. This one was hard. I re-wrote it and moved things about quite a bit. I was having a bid of a bad... couple of days, i guess and writing became a little difficult for a moment, but I'm feeling better now, well somewhat better. The writing is helping me distract myself at least, which is i guess a good thing? I hope you enjoy the update. 
> 
> All my love,  
> -B
> 
> Ps. There is a case I PROMISE. We are getting to it. We're only on Chapter 2.

**Author's Note:**

> I've compiled a list of songs that will be paired with each dance, but I don't want to spoil them all so instead I'll post each song used in that particular chapter in the end notes. 
> 
> For this Chapter I used:
> 
> Sway, Shaft’s remix (for the opening number which I did not describe in detail)
> 
> Cha cha - Donde Estas Yolanda by: Pink Martini, the version we heard in Sherlock when he returned and John tried to strangle him XD
> 
> Salsa – We Don’t Talk Anymore by Charlie Puth Feat. Selena Gomez, BUT the Mandinga Salsa Cover - you can find the cover on YouTube on Mandinga's Channel. It's really freaking amazing.


End file.
